


Sugar

by Titch360



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 13:23:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11692536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Titch360/pseuds/Titch360
Summary: What are traditions, and who decides just how sacred and inviolable they are?(This was written for a prompt from an online group I frequent.)





	Sugar

Sugar

A National Sugar Cookie Day submission

(I know this is late following the announcement, but I don't think I saw the announcement on the actual day.  This is just a little drabble that came to mind when I saw the prompt.)

 

Dick Grayson shouldered his way into Stately Wayne Manor one hot Friday in July.  It had been a long week at the office, and he treated himself to a couple extra hours of weekend, leaving the office two hours early.  He knew for a fact that Tim and Bruce had the same plan for today, but it appeared he was the first one home.

Dick changed out of his suit and made his way back downstairs.  His throat was dry, and he was hoping he could get Alfred to take pity on him and make some lemonade.  He figured it was hot enough outside to qualify for a pitcher.

Dick entered the kitchen to find a whirl of activity occurring around him.  It was ten degrees hotter in the kitchen than it had been in the hall.  A stand mixer spun on the counter.  There was a haze of flour dust floating in the air, tickling Dick's nose.  The center kitchen island was packed with baking sheets, bowls, and various ingredients.  However, all that paled when the familiar smell wafted its way into his nose.  It was a smell that the whole family learned to associate with a very special time of year.  Dick inhaled deeply, savoring the smell of warm vanilla.

Dick slipped onto a stool around the center island, watching the well-oiled machine that was Alfred's baking process.  Alfred himself was manning the stand mixer, folding ingredients together into what Dick knew was one of the best tastes on the planet.  A bell chimed on the oven, and Alfred turned the mixer to a lower speed as he turned to remove a cookie sheet from the oven.  Alfred placed the sheet to cool on the counter as another went into the oven.

Alfred started in surprise as he noticed his smiling charge sitting at the counter.  "Oh, my!  You are home early, Master Dick.  I didn't hear you come in."

Dick smiled at the older man and said, "I didn't want to interrupt.  I know your baking focus, and the carefully timed dance of your cookie preparation.  It's quite a thing to see.  We should get a video of it sometime."

Alfred smiled at the younger man, "You know I am never too busy for you, young man.  Is there anything I can do for you?"

Dick shook his head, his thoughts of lemonade forgotten, "No, Alfred.  It's just good to sit down after a long day."

"There are much more comfortable places to sit in this house, Master Dick."

Dick interrupted, reveling in the game he and Alfred had played since he was eight years old.  "But none are quite so entertaining, or have so interesting company."

Alfred smiled as the oven bell rang again.  "Very well, sir.  Let me know if there is anything I can do for you."

Dick nodded, "You can explain something to me.  I know you like getting things done early, but isn't July a bit overkill to start baking Christmas cookies?"

"I beg your pardon," Alfred asked, confused.

Dick nodded at the tray that Alfred had just put down to cool, "You're making sugar cookies.  I've lived here for twenty-one years, more or less, and you only ever make sugar cookies at Christmas."

Alfred looked introspective, "Surely not, Master Dick."

Dick leaned forward with a smile, "Surely yes, Mister Pennyworth.  That is how we judge the seasons.  It's not winter until you start making sugar cookies.  Are you just practicing for this winter?"

Alfred had to think for a long minute about his cookie-making practices.  Unable to come to a definitive conclusion, Alfred said, "Well, I am not practicing, nor getting a jump on the Christmas baking season."

Dick held up his hands in surrender, "Hey, cookies are cookies.  I'm not going to be the one to tell you what to bake."

Alfred returned to his baking as Damian walked into the kitchen, seemingly oblivious to the activity going on around him.  He went into a cabinet and pulled out a glass, then went to the sink and filled it with water.  The boy drained the glass as quickly as it had been filled, before filling it again and leaning against the counter.

Dick smiled at his youngest brother, "Hey Damian, can you pour me one of those, since you're over there?"

There was no response from the teen, who was staring out of the kitchen window at the back yard.

"Damian?"

Again, there was no response to Dick's request.  Alfred looked at Damian, then back at Dick.  They both shrugged.

"Damian!"

Dick's raised voice still didn't attract the attention of the youth.  Dick turned to Alfred and asked, "Did I do something?  Is he mad at me again?"

Alfred shook his head, "I've no clue, sir.  Master Damian has not expressed any dissatisfaction to me."

Growing annoyed, Dick grabbed an oven mitt from the counter and chucked it at the teen.  The protective hand shape bounced off of the back of Damian's head.  The only way it could have possibly hurt the boy was if Dick had put a brick in it before throwing it.  It was still a surprise when it connected with the boy's head, and he still cried out.

"Hey!  What are you doing?"  Damian turned and saw Alfred and Dick staring at him.  "What did you do that for," Damian asked.

"Why were you ignoring me," Dick asked in return.

Damian looked at Dick strangely, "What?"

"You were ignoring me, Little..."

Damian shook his head.  Dick looked sternly at the youth, "Yes, you were..."

Dick stopped short as Damian reached up and pulled the ear buds out of his ears.  Loud music could be heard from the small speakers.  "What did you say, Grayson?"

Alfred shook his head and went back to his baking while Dick sighed, "You're going to blow out your eardrums if you keep listening to those things that loud."

Damian rolled his eyes, "Yes, _Father_.  Were you trying to say something, or did you just want attention?"

"I wanted a glass of water, and since you were pouring one for yourself, I was trying to ask you to pour me one, too."

"Why didn't you just say so, Grayson," Damian said as he pulled another glass out of the cupboard and filled it for his brother.

Dick's eyes popped, "Why didn't I...Why you...You're lucky I love you, Damian, or I would be throwing a cookie sheet at your head."

Damian looked up, his eyes brightening as he slid the glass across the counter, "Cookies?"

Dick looked around strangely, "Did you not notice anything that has been going on around you?"

Damian shrugged as he walked around the kitchen island, "I noticed it smelled better than normal in here."

Dick patted the stool next to him.  Damian sat down as Dick said, "Well, we're in for a treat.  Alfred is making sugar cookies."

Damian looked around strangely before saying, "No, he isn't."

"Sure is, little brother."

Damian's look changed, and there was an almost angry tone in his voice.  "No, he _isn't_.  He can't be making sugar cookies.  This is July; he only makes those at Christmas."

Dick shrugged, "That's what I said earlier."

Damian looked up at Dick, a hint of a desperate need to understand on his face.  "What was his explanation?"

Dick thought for a second, "Actually, he didn't give one."

Damian paled, looking like the world was about to come crashing down around him.  "This isn't good, Grayson," Damian said softly, his mind racing, "There are only two reasons he would do something like this."

Dick figured that there were more than two reasons, but he indulged his brother, "Like what?"

Misunderstanding what Dick was asking, Damian said, "Making Christmas cookies when it isn't Christmas."

"I get that part," Dick said, "What are the reasons?"

Damian looked deathly serious as he said quietly, "Senility.  He might think this actually is December.  Alfred is too young to be losing his mind."

Dick smiled, "Alfred is not going senile, little brother.  What is your second explanation?"

Damian sniffled mightily, looking much sadder at his next thought.  "Then...he's sick."

Dick didn't think he would take any of Damian's suggestions seriously, but unfortunately, this one sounded probable.  "Sick?"

Damian nodded, glancing at the butler carefully, "There must be something wrong with him.  Something so serious that...that he doesn't think...think he will still be... _around..._ at Christmas."

Dick's look fell as a likely explanation hit him over the head like a ton of bricks.  Damian had scooted his stool closer to Dick, who unconsciously wrapped an arm around his shoulders.  "Sick," he repeated.

"Look at how many he's making.  That will cover us for several Christmases, once they're frozen."

Dick looked astonished at the theory.  On the one hand, Alfred had always been a paragon of health.  On the other hand, Alfred was firmly in his seventies, and even the healthiest body will break down eventually with age.  Dick looked up to the butler with concern on his face.  Alfred just winked at the man and shook his head, continuing with his baking.

Bruce walked into the room, his nose in the air and a smile on his face.  "Smells good, Alfred."

"Thank you, sir," the butler replied.

Dick looked over and asked, "That smell doesn't bother you, Bruce?"

Bruce shook his head, "Are you kidding?  It's great."

"You know what it is, right?"

"Cookies?"

Damian almost sobbed as he said, "Sugar cookies."

Bruce's eyes widened, "Really?  But, this is July."

"I know," Damian said darkly.

Tim walked in and took a seat next to Dick.  Leaning on the counter, he inhaled the aroma deeply and said, "Sweet, cookies."

Alfred tried his best not to roll his eyes as Dick turned to Tim and said, " _Sugar_ cookies."

Tim just smiled and said, "Great."

"Great?  This is horrible, Drake.  Do you know what this means?"

Tim started to look confused, "That...we're getting sugar cookies instead of chocolate chip after patrol tonight?"

"You don't find this a little strange, Tim," Bruce asked.

Tim shrugged, "Not really.  Should I?"

"Sugar cookies are for Christmas, Drake," Damian said harshly, " _Only_ for Christmas."

Tim cocked his head at the teen for a second before saying, "No they're not."

"Yes, _they are,"_ Damian said, his voice rising to a near shout.

Trying to head off a fight, especially since he was sitting between the two potential combatants, Dick said, "When has there ever been a sugar cookie in this house outside of winter, Tim?  I mean, yes, I realize it isn't against the law for sugar cookies to exist without an impending visit from Santa Claus, but they don't show up here.  It's one of my favorite holiday traditions."

Tim thought hard before shaking his head, "You're wrong, Dick.  Not about the tradition part, but the other part."

Damian was glaring daggers at his next older brother, "I've been here for three and a half years.  Sugar cookies are only for Christmas."

"Yeah, but..."

Dick spoke up, "I've lived here, on and off, for twenty-one years, Tim.  In all that time, they've only come out at Christmas."

Tim looked at Dick strangely, but his jaw nearly hit the floor when Bruce said, "I've got forty-seven years here.  I only see them at Christmas."

Tim stared at his family for close to a minute before he said the last thing any of them were expecting, "Well, I guess Alfred likes me best, then.  I get sugar cookies all the time."

"What!?!"  The remaining Wayne men shot to their feet at Tim's declaration.  In the background, Alfred was deriving great pleasure from the conversation as he continued to bake.

Damian was sputtering as Dick asked, "How do you possibly get Christmas cookies when it isn't Christmas?"

Tim shrugged and said simply, "I ask for them."

"You...you...you...and...but," Damian's mind seemed unable to process what he was hearing.  He started mumbling to himself, "Sugar cookies are for Christmas.  Sugar cookies are for Christmas."

"Don't you think you're messing with tradition there a bit, Tim," Bruce asked, "They are one of our few holiday traditions in this house."

Tim asked back, "Haven't you ever felt like having a reminder of Christmas throughout the year?"

That gave Bruce pause for thought as he and Dick took their seats again.  Damian remained standing, but had fallen silent.  His gaze was moving between Alfred and Tim, like he didn't recognize either of them.

The doorbell rang, and Alfred made to leave the room to answer it.  Bruce stopped him and placed a hand on Damian's shoulder gently.  "Son?  Why don't you get the door?  Maybe moving a bit will help you."

Damian nodded numbly and left the kitchen, mumbling again about how tradition was being ignored.

Bruce shook his head, "I don't think I've ever seen him like this, especially over something as simple as a cookie."

Dick was smiling brightly, "I think it's great."

"How so, Master Dick?"

Dick looked around, "Did you hear the words he was using?  He's defending a tradition.  He has latched on to something, and looks forward to its annual return, enough that seeing it early has caused him concern that it might not come at its appointed time."

Bruce grinned at the explanation, "I'm just glad that he has come to like a part of Christmas, other than the presents."

_Meanwhile..._

Damian wasn't really paying attention as he opened the front door, but their visitor was exactly who he hoped to see in this moment.

Dr. Thompkins smiled at the teen, "Hi, honey.  I didn't expect you to answer the door."

"I don't know who called you, but thank you for rushing over.  I'm afraid we need your services."

The doctor grew concerned at Damian's tone, "What happened, Damian?"

Damian grabbed the doctor's hand and dragged her into the kitchen.  She had to jog to keep up with him, "Damian, what's going on?"

Once back in the kitchen, Damian pointed at Alfred and said, "He's acting strangely.  Fix him."

Leslie was very confused as she looked around the kitchen.  "I feel like I've missed something here."

"We're having a bit of a revelation today," Bruce said.  "Alfred's actions today have caused some concern in the house."

Leslie looked at the butler and asked, "What is so concerning?"

"He's making sugar cookies," Dick said, "They're kind of a Christmas tradition around here."

Leslie glanced at Damian before saying, "I'm sorry.  I didn't know I was stomping on a tradition."

"What are you talking about, Leslie," Bruce asked curiously.

Leslie looked around carefully, "I asked Alfred to bake the cookies."

"You _what_ ," Damian nearly shouted.

Leslie flinched before answering, "Our annual clinic fundraiser is tomorrow.  I asked Alfred to make some baked goods to sell.  He's done it for me for several years now, and they always sell out.  I just thought sugar cookies sounded good this year.  You know, something different."

Damian was glancing back and forth between the butler and the doctor as Bruce said, "Well, I guess that answers that."

Damian had started mumbling again, "...For Christmas...For Christmas..."

Tim leaned over and whispered in Dick's ear, trying not to laugh as he said, "Damian.EXE has stopped working.  Please reboot your brother."

Dick had to bite his lip to keep from laughing as he lightly elbowed Tim in the stomach.  He got up and threw an arm around Damian's shoulders, pulling him back to the stools.  Dick repositioned them back on the stools, and found out just how disturbed Damian was by the simple afternoon of baking.  Damian allowed himself to be cuddled in front of non-family.  Even with as close to family as Dr. Thompkins was, it was still an occurrence that was noticed by all of the males in the room.

Alfred eyed the brothers before speaking, "Now that everything has been explained, you can serve as my willing volunteers.  Doctor, did you bring the baskets?"

Leslie started, then said, "Of course.  I left them in the car."

Leslie moved to leave the kitchen when Alfred said, "Don't, dear lady.  Master Bruce will fetch them for you."

Bruce smiled at the butler as Leslie handed over her keys.  "They are in the back seat, Bruce."

Bruce left as Alfred turned to Tim, "Master Timothy, on my prep table, you will find several boxes of baggies, two spools of ribbon, and scissors.  Please bring them all."

Tim nodded as he stood, "Sure, Alfred."

Bruce and Tim returned to the kitchen at the same time.  Alfred had been digging in a drawer for a second, but continued his instructions.  "Master Bruce, Master Timothy, please start bagging the cookies.  Two cookies per baggie, please.  Then, hand them to Master Dick.  Master Dick, if you will please tie the bags with the ribbon and give them to Dr. Thompkins.  I shall let you arrange them however you wish, Doctor."

Leslie smiled as the older boys got to work.  She, along with the rest of the family, watched as Alfred walked around the counter and approached the youngest, who had fallen silent.  Alfred bent down and spoke softly.  "Damian, I have enough dough left for one more batch of cookies.  I couldn't not make some for the family.  If I were to ask you to help me with that, would these make today a little easier for you?"

Alfred held out two cookie cutters, which Damian slowly took from the man's hand.  One was in the shape of a snowflake, while the other was in the shape of a candy cane.  Damian regarded the brass shapes for a minute before he said, barely above a whisper, "You aren't sick?"

"No, young sir.  Merely doing a favor for the good doctor.  Will you help me?"

Damian barely glanced up, "On one condition."

Alfred smiled brightly, "I promise that I will still be here to make more of these come Christmas, and for many Christmases to come."

Damian's look finally started to clear.  "It's _really_ okay to have these when it isn't Christmas?"

"I guarantee it.  You know what a stickler for rules I am."

Damian stood and hugged the butler.  "Thank you, Alfred.  How can I help you?"

 

**A/N: Just a little something that came to mind when I saw the Sugar Cookie prompt in my email.  Damian does seem the type to get rigidly set in a tradition.  The thought of Alfred only making sugar cookies at Christmas just sounded right to me, so I went with it.  Hope you like it.**


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